"vehemence" poems
Someone collect all the hatred,
and all the vehemence too.
then don't recycle or reciprocate it.
turn it all into something else,
rich and green and full of kindness.
distill it, remove the impurities,
coagulate it away from it's cold
tungsten tensile titanium.
some of us only have to try,
it can be done. Einstein said so;
and Mother Teresa and Gandhi,
and Martin Luther King Jr.
and brother Nelson too.
Someone collect all the hatred,
and all the vehemence too.
then don't recycle or reciprocate it.
turn it all into something else,
rich and green and full of kindness.
distill it, remove the impurities,
coagulate it away from it's cold
tungsten tensile titanium.
encase it in concrete and steel,
bury it with the radioactive waste.
let it lie for it's half life,
in over 40,000 tears.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
1.
Such vehemence
For immigrants
Border patrol
Vigilance
I never knew
A human being
Could be illegal
2.
A child should never be taught to hate
And human beings must never be insulated
Or inoculated against the horrors of war
3.
There is no liberation in this economy
Debt is a slower and slightly grayer
Variation of slavery
No more cotton fields but prison labor
Tell me where is our great modern emancipator?
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 7:13 AM UTC
I will tell you what he told me
in the years just after the war
as we then called
the second world war
don't lose your arrogance yet he said
you can do that when you're older
lose it too soon and you may
merely replace it with vanity
just one time he suggested
changing the usual order
of the same words in a line of verse
why point out a thing twice
he suggested I pray to the Muse
get down on my knees and pray
right there in the corner and he
said he meant it literally
it was in the days before the beard
and the drink but he was deep
in tides of his own through which he sailed
chin sideways and head tilted like a tacking sloop
he was far older than the dates allowed for
much older than I was he was in his thirties
he snapped down his nose with an accent
I think he had affected in England
as for publishing he advised me
to paper my wall with rejection slips
his lips and the bones of his long fingers trembled
with the vehemence of his views about poetry
he said the great presence
that permitted everything and transmuted it
in poetry was passion
passion was genius and he praised movement and invention
I had hardly begun to read
I asked how can you ever be sure
that what you write is really
any good at all and he said you can't
you can't you can never be sure
you die without knowing
whether anything you wrote was any good
if you have to be sure don't write
4.7k
yellow banana from the east
making discordian inroads
to vehemence this fall
won't let it turn black
or we can't go back
not an innuendo
put it in a spiral
make it viral
bring a melon
and hard drive
sell the lemon
for half price
buy no frills
airlines tickets
ride with the fruit
to unknown places
disseminate those faces
that munch on the yellow
that icky sticky mellow fellow
well the law of fives dictates its size
must have a five plus maybe a two or three
where did we go with thee can we please go free
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC
All of a sudden,
something is aloof
The air becomes stale,
like the bread of sourdough;
you refuse to walk through
the garden overgrown, infested with
insecurities and a plethora of doubt
I believed you to be
a recipe I figured out
I'm left teetering on my toes
as vehemence in me grows
and the mystery within you
is unfortunately never shown
Riddle me your chivalry's
whereabouts as of late
You're good at concealing
all that you're feeling
I remember when you were sweet,
like the aura we would create
like the donuts you brought me;
a dozen sugar-coated holes and
one lone blueberry
My insides have been fried
in a hot mess called love,
and a dozen-sugar coated holes
from you my dear, was
considerably enough
Jan 12, 2012
Jan 12, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
And when I die,
surely from sin and dirt and living-
Do not bury me in white.
Do not brush my hair and paint my nails.
Do not shine my heels and iron my dress.
Do not speak of me so bittersweetly.
Bury me in lingerie with frayed lace.
Muss my hair and smear my lipstick.
Scuff my boots and rip my tights.
Speak of me with thinly-veiled vehemence.
Do not love me,
when I am dead.
For none did during life,
other than in the glow of a t.v.
that only played to hide the moans.
Do not bury an imposter
and spin tales of a sweet ******
who died too soon.
Bury a *****
and rage that you were not the one
to finally silence her.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 9:48 PM UTC
Imagine a warehouse of apples with their individual conciousness.
They are labelled and categorised.
They are segregated.
The apples are gathered and put into boxes marked
by what they want to be known by,
their commonality/mentality.
If a bushel of apples are a stigma, they are put into boxes marked by what the other apples tag them by.
In a self-marked box, by the name of “surat zayifa” an apple lays at the juncture of the pyramid of analogous red,
maggots eating away at it’s heart.
The apple turned crimson hued to an evangelist blood maroon. Smouldering; festering like an open wound.
A stinging aura besieged it,
suffocating the air like sharpnel stuck in the throat.
The apple, consumed by a dark resurgence and a devilish resolve,
spoke in tongues of the serpent and supplanted seeds of pestilence in the hearts of the apples who joined his brooding virtue.
A collective conciousness was supplanted among the fruit,
imprinted with the face of death.
The world of apples, thrive on each other and face the forebodings of life together in spite of their marked differences in a state of throbbing dependancy.
The apples feed on the apples.
Another self-marked box, by the name of “khalas” were set to consume the apples from “surat zayifa” to continue finity,
unwary of their poisoned souls.
The apples fed on the apples and almost every other apple rotted and perished.
The apples that survived were the ones who consumed the apples unblemished in spirit.
All the others apples from all the other boxes blamed “surat zayifa” as a whole.
Even the apples purest, were tainted by the sins of the other apples,
the ones to take the blame for the misdeed of their creed.
The box was now marked in disgrace, a vehemence, a scourge.
The last remaining poisoned apple that was set to perish from “khalas” did something morally unhinging before it’s spirit departed;
the apple smeared it’s tan blood with words on the cardboard and dropped dead.
The singular light bulb flickered, the pulse strained.
Everything fell silent.
The words read “ We are ourselves. We **** ourselves.”
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 1:17 AM UTC
I am utterly convinced
that my spirit is a ten-cent *****
letting any passing nemesis
**** it in the mind
with almost no tension.
It must enjoy the sensation
as its host clearly shows
in the streams of tears
that flow through the eyes,
the spirit's ***********
It must moisten its knickers
at the viewing of torture,
as its host sits in an icy stupor,
with the times of grotesque
spectacle-sobs on tile flooring,
nicks on the wrist, what have you-
the only times of breathing.
My spirit must have stolen all the
charm it takes to captivate
the enemy into arousal,
as the host stumbles awkwardly in
public, pushing all potentials away
with vehemence and convincing itself
of its inferior quality to
even the vermin of the sewer.
My spirit has made me the loathing host
to the parasite of my own being,
my mind the main casualty,
ridden with **** from villainy both
outer and inner, decay from traumas
more persuasive than the tongue
of Casanova.
I hope it's happy.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:46 AM UTC
She goes on sniffing him like a hunter's dog, persistent,
He eats her hurriedly as if she is a honey filled cake,
Chance ****** encounter, unbridled wild desires run amok.
They are fully taken over by the agile demons of ***** amour.
Completely forget shame, even the thought of sin, altogether.
Make the bed a ground where they play with such vehemence!
She is a rare tree, yielding to caressing touch, flowering all over.
The goose bumps refusing to disappear,tell the whole untold story.
She makes noises of approval, while tracking the scent downwards
When she finds the bone at last, she doesn't know what she does!
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 11:40 AM UTC
As I ****** your cheek and cup lovingly
Fervor runs through my veins; you felt the intensity
In seconds, you read and sight in my eyes
The vehemence and ride to my surprise
Down to earth you are, pinned on the wall
Clamors were cited throughout the hall
To rush in a room filled with ecstasy
We couldn’t care less, now it’s just you and me
Laid on a soft surface and have the gates wide open
Given with sanction, both parties have spoken
With passion written all over and seen through action
Just to end the night with love and satisfaction
May 15, 2021
May 15, 2021 at 4:14 AM UTC
Exhausted
from feeling
reeling
peeling away my exoskeleton
of mossy vehemence
Disgusted
from festering
pestering bacteria
leeching my energy
depleting my senses
Desensitized
towards romance
no chance
for me
Sinking
in a swamp
instead of grasping
for relief
Ashamed
for allowing
disavowing
natural instincts
Crying
dying
internally invaded
by poisonous neglect
Suicide
by choking on
your spoken words
I kept
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
Face me...fixedly eye to eye, four hands intertwined in infinite reciprocation, articulating...
Osculate my mind with your intellectual parlance, ardently and with hedonistic electricity arousing my neurons, titillating my synapses, sending lustful charge down my nerves.
I crave to feel your utterances surge through me, course throughout every bifurcation, and transude from every last pore of my flesh.
Grasp my heart with your loquacity, embracing so passionately, that our beats become one resonating cadence whilst exchanging harmonious rhythm.
Caress my flesh with cognital poetry woven from emotions existent only to us.
Trace my veins with every word born from pain, contentment, angst and tranquility... pressing their vehemence into my bloodstream, surrendering my pulses to ******
I yearn to listen to you make me moan, as I arch my back, tilt my head and release in silent screaming ecstasy... sating you with visual affirmation of our sapiosexual affair.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 6:58 AM UTC
Check errata, pressure chests,
minds of razors edges, vie to
stress knowledge for the win:
You second guess yourself, then.
Flip the cold and oddly coded
engine as if you're blind to it.
It's happening again, now.
Verses nurse the wounds.
Wounds nurse the verses.
Pain's slyly subjective hooks
have hooked the meat of me.
Like accountants slicing numbers,
I slice the mountains into soft shapes.
Earth and water, earthen urns, hold
Life to carry, to gift, or, to displace.
Choirs sing on high, of rightful things.
I was frightful, once. With enough
ignorant vehemence poured upon me,
poured upon me, a bath in love's less
eager refuse, has turned my dreams, too,
into excrement, excrement. Utter ****
I was excited, once. I swear I was.
Holding out for ****** touch, left cold,
hopeless and wanting when the only
validation, validation I was taught
set my value in cash and beauty, cash
and beauty, two matters of strict
adherence to social standards, but what
if two fat, hairy legs make my tongue wet?
What if otherness keeps me lonely?
What if it keeps me lonely? Can I take
that pain, after all, into the ground of my grave?
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 9:16 AM UTC
the criminal element is lost
have you fought with your boss
each day is fraught with challenges
but that's what makes you stronger
all along the water's edge
the waves break and connect
like threads of poetry
lines of beauty
curving at the moon
luminous intrusions
before we are fallen
dreams seethe
with colorful landscapes
and i am a blade of grass
threads of astral fire
aspire for the sun
my magic is beyond recognition
it ignites the silence
and burns bright as day
words are living
breathing entities
families of sounds
consonants and vowels
are relatively harmless
unless you dare
to speak them out loud
control your tone
and let aspiration resonate
this assonance is rather transient
so lets embrace our scansion
mansions of impermanence
lands of intransigent transients
its tragic really
how the lead of vehemence
can spread so rapidly
sentient powers stake their claim
in soil that remains dutiful
despite your shame
have we gone insane
its quite likely
or are we still the same
that remains to be questioned
better to drop this game
and keep up your crazy vision quest
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC
BAREFOOT
I follow the road
of my father’s voice
journey with him
along white roads...over green fields
barefoot
to school & back
(shoes if at all...worn only to church)
picking up the cuts & scabs
stubbed toes
his going to school
would entail
in the early years of the 1920’s
only so much history to me
real
to him
his toes
knowing the wind
in the grass
for what it is
his toes
clasping a rock
fording a stream
Irish & poems
bubbling through his head
babbling along
the tongue
words thrown to
those lost summer skies
startling a blackbird
spouting his poetry
with poetry
of his own
(3 miles to school...3 miles back)
his mind a skimmed stone
dancing along a river
over unforgiving
stones
thorns attacking his feet
with undisguised relish
the vehemence of glass
glinting greedily
for the next footstep
the menace
of the twisted rusty nail
& its treachery
betraying the next footfall
as he walks over
the unremitting years
into my eyes
wide with wonder
listening to him
tell of himself
as a little boy
to his little boy
the me of then
my eyes now
following the road
of my father’s voice
as it wanders
barefoot
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 1:53 PM UTC
Reality is drowned beneath the waves.
The bubbling crescendo
Sounding forth its mockery
At my resistance.
Anguished cries are muted
By the vast liquid’s gossamer grasp.
Each arching crest curves around my soul
Cocoon like it entraps me.
Explosive waves roar their obsession.
Each powerful white tipped crest
Rolls with the joy of loves persistent tattoo.
White water propels me headless
Towards destiny’s ocean
Its power rushes through my veins.
Tossing me over the edge of reason
The Tsunami consumes me in its passion.
Heart pounding within my rapturous journey
The water falls away into distant oblivion.
Suddenly I am ****** free of its tenuous hold
It’s vehemence crashing me against the scared shore.
There the marks of our passing remain a constant reminder
Cherished scars to be carried on loves momentous tide
Like a Tsunami come to claim the soul,
Love seeks my full surrender.
Oct 21, 2009
Oct 21, 2009 at 12:56 AM UTC
All my life
I was allowed to appreciate the world around me
But lacked the means to express how
I could speak of the fluttering of a starling’s wings
Lifting into the majesty of the sky
By stirring the air
But you would not understand
The loneliness they stir in me
I could describe the stature of the far-off mountain
The snow-ridden summit stark white
Vehement in its unyielding presence
But you would not see
The spark of vehemence I feel in its wake
I could illustrate the way the sun sinks behind the hills
Staining the clouds orange and pink
Causing a blanket of soft light to awaken the earth
But you would not recognize
The nostalgia it awakens in my tired soul
I could narrate your mannerisms with clarity
The gentle smiles and nervous fidgeting
Shyly nodding in mild acquiescence
But you would not notice
The utter joy that holds me under its sway
As you lull my heart with your words
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
Some days he'll dress in new or old
But with a smile always so sharp
His walking charm will take a toll
When the woman turns to dark
His snaking charm strolls to the pub
Where the slags and twonks *** around
Nothing but warm hands and pint to grub
Where the woman he sees is found
She spits bleeding words from her filthy mouth
As he scorns them back with his hand
The red only cries when she screams in doubt
The snake gives her his looking glan
Someone thought to call for help
But no help had ever arrived
The barman listened to the poor woman's yelp
People pretend she never cried
The smiling man of ruthless charm
Walks down the stairs of death
Vehemence covered with blood and sin
Whereas mannequin slags spread grim
In forms of angelic old and new
His inhibited shape had grew
More evil it grew as his smile knew
His deliverance was joyful harm
He preached to barman to slags to twonks
His ways of nature so brash and ******
From snake to wolf to man dressed well
Even a preacher of God his allure so grand
The cunting ***** bemoaned downwards
Dampened with red paint shrieked foreign words
With her limbs cut open, "Deliverance is God"
Finding it was the charming man who smiled as a sod
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 12:36 PM UTC
It's been one week,
since I told you,
nothing of importance.
But one week,
since you told me,
anything,
at all.
How soon I forget,
what it's like,
not to be,
at a person's disposal.
How quickly I remember,
that remembering is,
a bother.
Easy folk enjoy easy listening.
A magnet that draws sound.
Vibrations of different magnitudes.
But visually, all the same:
On a large enough body; what proceeds:
A ripple on water's edge.
Beauties and questions evoked.
Memories that hold vehemence.
Open ears that trickle red.
An eye for an eye.
A tooth for a tooth.
A *** for a ***
Sour taste, before I spit.
After all that said,
so it goes:
She is left feeling discontent,
because her friend left her behind.
A friendship no longer pragmatic,
left her detached and unkind.
After one move against her,
inadvertently made her the bad guy.
Assimilated ignorance was transferred,
leaving her with raging eyes.
Now a maniac, but once shy.
It started the day she was betrayed,
and her friend left without goodbye.
Friendship turned into a frivolous demise.
She never thought of compromise.
She will always be left on her own will.
Only living each day with empty glare.
While she sits cynically by her window sill.
Reliving old days, and perfecting her stare.
It's been one week,
since I told myself,
nothing of importance.
But one week,
since I've asked questions,
and have realized that,
in your twenties,
you are partial to saying 'No.'
Implicit No, god-forbid a subtle yes.
You know yourself.
You want to know yourself.
You hope that you know yourself.
And,
In the scheme of it all,
the ***** shopping mall,
the empty alleyways,
**** and trash,
looking down at laced shoes,
transcends society's social boundaries.
Those little moments at the end of the day,
that make you smile,
are the reason you should not become frustrated.
It would be the same,
as letting a long car ride ruin a vacation.
Thinking short-termed has never led to outstanding goals,
only temporary satisfaction.
Life is short,
but it is long enough to learn how to pick battles.
There are far more important things to worry about,
than ill intent with loved ones,
or even strangers.
If someone steps on your shoes,
let it go.
Use that frustration to better yourself,
and when you can,
buy better shoes,
and walk a mile in them.
Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 3:03 AM UTC
Listen. I'm not silent.
In fact, I'm immensely talkative.
I have a loud mind that produces battalions of statements daily.
I am talkative.
Words egress from my lips like rivers flowing to vast seas.
I speak of my aspirations, dreams, and visions for the future.
I brag about my strengths and feats that I have achieved.
I impart my knowledge and discoveries to the curious.
I am not silent.
I share my experiences and learnings to elicit self-reflection.
I exclaim my inspirations and interests with much enthusiasm.
I was never silent.
I admit my weaknesses, insecurities, and fears with difficulties.
I enumerate my quirks and oddities despite hesitating.
I disclose my secrets and sins that marred me.
Why do you call me silent?
I elaborate my thoughts and my whims on the spot.
I sing my favorite rhymes, lullabies, and songs that are more than just mellifluous melodies.
How can you call me silent?
I utter peculiar lines and cryptic metaphors in varying tones.
I narrate stories of friendships, love, romance, and passion in diverse forms.
I spit verses of hatred, greed, atrocity, and apathy with vehemence.
I scream what's taboo, ****** unconventional, and abhorrent unabashedly.
There is absolutely no space in my mouth for silence.
I am not silent and my lips are not closed.
Your eyes are just covered, and you do not know how and when to listen.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 2:16 PM UTC
in the beginning
was BamiBami
He the True God
the One God
He wanted everything for Himself
this BamiBami
so He weeded out all competition
and ate all the food at Cosmic Meat
Yum! Yum!
said BamiBami
*More! More!
Yum! Yum!*
and Mighty He fell sick
and He had no mother to make Him chicken soup
and He had no woman
to scream Him out of His Indisposition
But He had One Predisposition
and so He
vomited the Sun
and He vomited the Stars and the Planets
and the Cosmos
(and He vomited with such vehemence
the cosmos and the stars and space,
they’re still moving outward)
and then He turned round and He made one final *****
and He vomited the Earth and all its creatures
that includes you and me
and think about that,
that makes you puke
(say Hi Puke
to your fellow human pukes…)
and since then we’ve always puked
look around, and you’ll see the muck and puke
we’ve even gone nuke
All Praise be to BamiBami
He of the Divine Puke
and that’s how we got here
not by a fluke
but by a puke
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 9:45 AM UTC
i shattered his stone coat
snug around his idle core
by my fist of strong will and liberty
behind it bearing the beat of a newborn
simple and soft
radiating and revealed
to fruitful camaraderie
bionic boy bound by his brothers
craving delights they say a man should
thundering still with lust's vehemence
piercing through cyan lenses
i sliced it open
tore it out.
denied him at birth.
****** love
it's not enough.
it will die without saying so.
gathering stones
Apr 11, 2010
Apr 11, 2010 at 11:38 PM UTC
She was riding me with violence
Then there came this suspect silence,
Our bodies’ short alliance
Had came to a swift end.
Dismounting like a trooper,
She left me in a stupor…
To write on her computer?
I lay there in a daze!
She looked at me with eye of,
The deepest green, they’re kind of,
(you may have caused this rhyme love)
Like a gangrenous dove.
“I’ might continue later…”
I struggled not to hate her,
But it’s not her job to cater
To my seductive gait, or my deviant- like needs.
So I hatched a plan that just might,
Render my plight more trite,
And make my mind-set alright,
To continue through this day.
So I grabbed my **** with vehemence,
and pumped with such experience
that the ceiling’s coat of cream just
might vindicate my mind.
As it was dripping off the ceiling…
I began to get this feeling,
My intent had been revealing
To this cheeky penguin's view
As I looked over to guage her
reaction, I'd ought to savour,
but I was faced with a much stranger
Situation than I’d expect.
She was sitting with a smile...
The umbrella cocked awhile.
She must have seen through my quite vile,
Intentions straight away
She tilted her head slightly,
and with a wink, said quite politely -
"I guess you're done now Riley?
My plan...it worked a treat"
That’s why I like this woman,
She keeps me guessing more than,
a stockmarket versed in Russian,
or a way to end this poem.
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 6:56 PM UTC
Age old forests compressed
To thick primeval ooze
Interred between layers
Of sediments fused
By time and tonnage
To hard papa rock
Concealing CRUDE OILS’
Subterranean shock.
Shocking in value
Escalating with time,
Shocking in politics
Which equates to a crime,
Implications shocking
When you stop to see
That resource limitations
Have diminished quickly.
Consider the clout
When a fast world of cars
Without hydrocarbons
Would seize up like stars,
Stars, in the sense
Of their immovable grace,
For a fuel less planet
Would IMMOBILIZE this place.
Abrupt immobility
To bring chaos and mess
And the utter lost beauty
Of a girl in a dress,
And the time and space
To smell a good rose
Instead brittle chaos
Malevolently posed.
Bleak desolation
Of the world we hold dear
And a massive regression
To impoverished fear.
Marshalg
Looking thru the hour glass
4 July 2011
Only way to deliver this poem is SLAM and with vehemence!!
Jul 3, 2011
Jul 3, 2011 at 10:40 PM UTC
I Stood there,
Waiting alone,
The lonely mountains wept for me,
spoke of my torment to the winds
And the winds passed it on
to the trees.
They all stood furious
Matching my ****** fury.
And soon, there was none,
Who escaped it.
The world danced
In the vehemence
Of our wrath.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 7:53 AM UTC